


Risk Assessment

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kiki's Delivery Service AU, Kinda, M/M, Minecraft mashup, Ryan is just standoffish tbh, Urban Fantasy, related to samijen's witch au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fed up with trying to make it through a nonmagical life, Ray leaves home for a new city to find a master witch. Without a skill, though, he settles for being a magical shop keeper's cashier. If only he could get the cute guy living at Mushroom House to talk to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> Whatever.

The flutter of fingers dancing across keys nearly deafens Ray as he spaces out in his class. The professor on the class floor clicks through slides and parrots the information back at them, as if they can’t read. Ray squints at the presentation and sourly admits he actually can’t read anything from the last seat in the top row. However, his seat comes with two perks: he is the first to leave out the door directly behind him, and he has a window. The window is reminiscent of a tiny glimpse one would have to the outside world while trapped in a prison cell, but it’s Ray’s window. Bird and insects tear past his window, and Ray’s boredom turns to remorse. 

Outside, the birds dip and bank through the air effortlessly. Ray’s still hands flinch to life and ball into fists. Old calluses from a broomstick—many, shattered broomsticks—rub together like gritty sandpaper. The other magical children he’d grown up with, tutored alongside him by his grandmother, have already left home to find their masters and hone their skill. He’s the only one left, until the next generation of witches sprout up. All these years and no talent has ever shown in him: flight, spell casting, shape shifting. Nothing. The idea that maybe he’ll be his grandmother’s student forever has plagued him, and college isn’t exactly working out either. 

Ray’s hands sweat and ache as he digs his fingernails into his palms before letting go. He sags into the tight, uncomfortable desk. With his head flung back at an almost broken angle, the young witch sighs to the ceiling as life continues around him. The lecture goes on and student type furiously while Ray sits like a stone in a stream. The constant to and fro, stop and go in this non-magical life erodes away Ray’s resolve to do anything. Dramatically, Ray’s future rolls out in front of him as a dreary carpet of gray, uninteresting and uninspired. He dies a little on the inside thinking about it, his magical core shaking in fright. 

“The fuck am I doing?” Ray whispers to the ceiling. 

Bitter and tired, Ray gathers his personal effects and quietly exits the lecture hall. A few heads turn to watch him go, but no one stops him. The clacking of keys continues without him. The scenery of the campus rushes past Ray as he speeds a course towards the bus stop to head home. Meanwhile, Ray puts his phone through the works as he researches the weather for the next few days and the prices of train tickets. The back of his phone burns hot with the battery strain after watching fellow witches’ videos online on how to begin training. Ray nearly misses his stop, but once his feet hit pavement, he dashes down the street until it dead-ends in front of his house. 

The other houses on the street, with their matching columns and white siding, contrast sharply to the sagging farmhouse Ray lives in. His grandparents and their grandparents before have lived in this house, binding their magic to it and thus the house to the earth. Contractors have tried countless times to chase and burn his family away, but the house holds fast. Stepping over the ley lines dug shallowly into the ground, Ray speeds past the main house to the shed where the brooms are kept. The itch to move on with his life and do whatever witches in training do fills him with confidence. He might be able to at least lift his feet off the ground, if he tries. 

Ray sets aside his school things a bit rougher than he should, but he’ll worry about that later. Set on a table pushed against the back wall of the shed sits the broom he’d finished a few months ago. Dust and spider webs dull the fine grain of the handle and dirty the bristles, but they’re easily brushed away. Ray wipes his hand on the thigh of his jeans and struts from the shed, broom at his side. Safe from prying eyes behind the shed, Ray straddles the broom with only a minor blush on his cheeks. The young witch closes his eyes and concentrates on the techniques his grandmother had taught him. He searches for the feeling of a draft twirling through him, trying to latch onto it and pull himself along with it. 

Instead, all Ray feels inside is the familiar muck of shame and disappointment. The only breeze rushing through him is the one twinkling the bells tied to branches in the trees surrounding his house. He’s never made them ring the correct way. Only when he’d kick and thrash at the tree bases as a frustrated child did he coax a sound from them. This failure tastes familiar, though, and Ray is not deterred by it. Grumbling, he dismounts and stomps back to the shed. With the broom still in hand, Ray swipes his bag up and finally enters the house. He mumbles a greeting to his mother, who had scurried away from the window, watching him. At least that’s one thing he’ll always share with her, though. She never could get a broom to fly, either. 

The steps leading to the single bedroom upstairs—his bedroom—creak under Ray’s sneakers. Same as in the shed, Ray dumps his broom and bag on his bed and yanks open the drawers in his dresser. Ray pulls out necessities like underwear and sock from the top drawers as well as loose clothes to sleep in from the second. The rest he doesn’t even open. With a groan, Ray abandons his small pile on the bed and turns to the closet. Inside, the outfit of his trade dangles from a hangar with two others. Ray makes a face at the dresses, but he pulls them out anyway. He’d tried to pass them off as robes or extra long shirts, but his grandmother always set him straight. 

“Packing for something special?” 

Ray’s hands instantly spasm and drop the coal colored dresses to the hardwood floor. He tries to hold in a startled cry, but it comes out anyway. In the doorway, his grandmother eyes the clothing and broom assembled on the bed. She hobbles into the room with a cane in one hand and a folded, black cloth in the other. Pushing some of his things out of her way, she bends slowly at the waist and perches on the edge of his mattress. When Ray stares at her, stuck in place, she pats the empty space beside her. 

“Pick up those dresses and come here. I have something for you.” 

“Uh, I’m not packing—“ 

“Don’t be silly,” she snaps, on the edge of impatience. “I’ve been waiting for you to give up at college for ages, now.” 

Ray kneels to collect his dresses and finally approaches the bed. “But you and mom wanted me to go! And it’s only been a one semester.” 

She eyes Ray in the same manner as his things before disregarding him and staring out into the hallway. Ray sighs, defeated, and dumps the dresses on top of the pile. He plops beside her with more bounce than necessary and waits for her to speak. Around them, the house groans in the wind, and the twinkle of dishes clicking together tickles their ears. Ray straightens his back, jostling the bed in the process. His grandmother takes that moment to unfold the black cloth and offer it to Ray in her open palm.

“These were worn by your grandfather while he was in training. He wanted you to have them, when the time was right.” 

Crimson red and dangling, and pair of earrings sit curled up in her hand. Ray picks at one and holds it by the post. A red jewel firmly attached to the post hosts a thin chain with an elongated, equally red bead at the end. Ray’s face tries to twitch into a frown, but he holds it in at the last second. His grandmother sets the cloth aside and takes up the other earring Ray left behind. Curling a finger at him, she urges Ray to twist his head. Ray groans, but knows better than to resist. He can’t recall the last time he’d worn anything in his ears, though, and hopes silently that the holes haven’t closed. 

“I hope you’ll wear them for the duration of your training,” she says while coaxing the post through his lobe. “They’ll be a good luck charm for you.” 

“Good luck charms are sold to normies, because they’re gullible,” Ray sasses back. 

His grandmother only hums a reply, though, rather than reprimand him for his tone. Ray’s ear stings a bit with the earring in place, but it’s nothing he can’t bear. He silently hands the other earring to her and shuffles around so that she can put it in for him. That done, they stand with Ray offering his arm to her without a second thought. The old woman paws at Ray’s bedroom door to shut it, revealing the mirror hung on the back. They observe Ray’s new accessory together, with a tiny smile on her face and a dead expression on Ray’s. 

“Granny, how am I even supposed to find a master to train me?” 

“A new witch in town is never alone for long,” she offers. “You’ll find them, or they’ll find you.” 

Ray scoffs and finally looks away from the mirror. “Yea, before or after I’m dead in a gutter somewhere.” 

She swipes at Ray’s shoulder and shakes her head at him. “Stop, you’ll be fine.” 

Ray tries to believe that, an hour later when he’s boarding a train with a one-way ticket. On the platform outside, his mother and grandmother wave goodbye, both smiling and misty eyed. Ray slouches against the window and returns the wave, although much less enthusiastically. The train jerks forward once before rolling on the tracks, out of the station. Ray’s eyes strain to keep sight of his family until the last moment. It’s only when he can’t see them anymore does he turn his gaze down to his boarding pass. His grandmother had recommended he leave for a city with a view, and he’d chosen a small town perched on a cliff above the sea. Uncertainty taints his growing excitement, though. He isn’t sure if there’s a master in this town, let alone another witch. And the fact that he isn’t flying to his destination still stabs at him like a thorn. 

The occupancy of the train swells and drains as they chug along towards the coast. When night falls, Ray is almost alone in the carriage. He nods off after that, slumped against the window with his neck at an odd angle. He shivers in the middle of the night with his plain, charcoal dress barely falling to his knees. Ray kicks off his shoes at some point when sunlight spills over the horizon and tucks his legs under him, just to hide his knees from the chill. He’s finally asleep, finally warm and comfortable, when the train jerks especially hard and grinds to a stop. 

Groaning and cursing, Ray stretches and digs the crust out of his eyes. After heading due east for most of the trip, the train had steamed with full power up the coast until now. On Ray’s side of the train, nothing but ocean with boats bobbing in its vastness can be seen. Ray’s hand brushes against the cool glass of the window as he watches the sun flood the shallows with morning light. Twisting his head around towards land, Ray’s sight climbs up and up at the town sewn into the steep cliffs above. The only thing this close to the water is the station, with a lengthy path urging passengers up to the first street level. The PA system overhead announces his stop, though, and Ray jumps into action. 

The young witch leaves the golden waters behind him with a bag on one shoulder and his broom on the other. A few strangers turn an eye at his broom and dress, but none comment or stop him. When Ray hurdles the final step to the street, the train and its track beneath him resemble a toy model he’d once played with. He doesn’t look back as the street clears of cars, allowing him to cross the street. The longer he stares at the train, the more he wants to tumble down the stairs and sneak a ride back home. He’s hoping that his grandmother’s words will come true, and that magic will guide someone to him. 

Ray spends an hour of the morning walking around and scoping out the seaside town, with its unassuming people and cheap street food. At one point, Ray finds a shaded park through a tunnel passage in the cliff side. He rests on a bench, bag and broom at his feet, and counts the cash he’d saved for this exact trip. The bill denominations make up for how few slips of paper he has, but staring at his last meal or last night in a bed frightens him. Ray clutches to the wrinkled bills all the tighter, as if the wind would rip the money from his hands. It’s only when a few more people enter the park does Ray move on. 

The handle of Ray’s broom rubs a divot into his shoulder as morning gives way to noon. Ray loiters outside a hotel and a grocery store for an hour apiece, trying to attract the right kind of attention. Instead, all he attracts are security guards and hushed whispers. He’s breathless and sweating under the high sun when a church clock strikes four down the street. He trudges on, thinking that he’s left the train station and lower terraces of the town behind. However, the young witch drags his feet around a corner only to spot the tunnel entrance to the secluded park he’d abandoned only hours before. Ray drops his shoulders with a choked groan and stomps back the way he’d come. The sky darkens at the church bell’s stroke of five. Soon, that same sky opens to drizzle Ray with evening rain. It doesn’t soak him right away, but the wind kicks up and digs into him along with the rain. By the time Ray seeks shelter under an artfully built stone bridge, true night has fallen. 

Ray leans against his pack, trying to keep the precious few items inside from the rain. Unfortunately, the wind drives the rain sharply under the bridge, and there are few dry spots remaining. Ray sacrifices himself to protect his bag and broom, shivering in the dark and biting chill. The day had started out so warm and lovely, and yet he has nothing to show for it. Foolishly, he hadn’t packed anything thicker than a t-shirt. He’d lacked the forethought to prepare for cold rain like this, assuming that the coastal weather would keep him comfortable. Ray bunches his dress around his aching knees and curls up with his back to the dripping rain. 

At some point, somewhere between exhausted sleep and napping, something prickles on the back of Ray’s neck. He whips around, instantly awake, to squint at the ground in the dim light. Sitting on four paws and with an intimidating pair of eyes, a cat watches him shiver in the night. Ray looks around for the sight of kittens or another human, but the space under the bridge is vacant. When Ray turns his attention back on the feline, it has crawled closer and sits patiently by his hand. It doesn’t make a sound, only watches him with steady eyes that catch the smallest among of light and glow back at him.

“Uh,” Ray stutters before clearing his throat. “Did I take your spot or something?” 

Besides a twitch of the cat’s tail, nothing happens. 

“Are you just gonna climb on me and use me for warmth if I go back to sleep?” 

A triangular ear flicks at the dull echo of his voice. Sighing, Ray mumbles his objection and lowers himself back to the ground. He shivers and clenches his teeth as the cat climbs over his ribs. The animal burrows in the small space between Ray’s arms and his bag, making itself comfortable before going still. Ray blinks at the small creature through the drops of water on his glasses, unsure of how to feel about it. The dampness of his clothes and the constant wind distract him from complaining about the cat, though. The thought that the chill and water might take him in the night only fuels his shivering. Ray drifts off to trembling, terrible sleep with the thumping of a tiny heart beating by his wrist.

 

 

No light greets Ray the next time he opens his eyes. His left side aches and complains from having slept on it, despite him waking flat on his back. Beneath Ray, the ground gives way and bulges around him the same way a mattress would. And above him, chin down, the air warms him the same way a blanket would. The math doesn’t add up in his shivering, cold brain, though. Ray reaches up with a trembling hand for his face to adjust his glasses, but he only finds skin. Ray struggles under the heavy blanket on top of him, slapping his hands in every direction in confusion. 

“Mmm, chill the fuck out,” a scratchy voice whines near Ray’s ear. A hand presses him with sure and true strength back to the bed. “You’re fine, just give me a few more minutes.” 

Ray pants and scratches at the hand in the center of his chest. His other hand slaps a bit more lightly at the weight curled up by his side. Sure enough, a body nestles close to him under a blanket. Ray pokes at a warm cheek before the person grunts and snatches Ray’s hand. Ray sputters as the stranger holds his hand hostage. Under the covers, Ray’s chest heaves as he panics and hyperventilates. The boy beside him whines and releases his hand. He urges Ray to turn his head, and they’d make eye contact if not for the pitch darkness. 

“Hey, calm down,” the stranger murmurs. Breath puffs against Ray’s face. “You’re safe, now.” 

“Where?” Ray rasps and licks his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. The gentle breath on his face shifts away, and the boy beside him bumps his head under Ray’s chin. 

“A witch’s shop. It’s cool.”

The boy grunts and drags Ray closer under the covers, seeming to fall back asleep. Unsure of where to put his hands, Ray curls both by his chest and remains silent for a moment. Ray grounds himself as his senses fight through the darkness and the numbness drifting under his skin like static. His dress is gone, replaced by shorts and a loose t-shirt. Naked legs tangle with his, but the nakedness continues farther up, if the skin brushing against the backs of Ray’s fingers means anything. Ray swallows hard and tries to contain his comment, but he can only resist for so long.

“Dude are… Are you naked?”

Against his body, the boy shuffles and wiggles around for a moment. “Is that a problem?”

“I mean…”

A mischievous giggle is Ray’s response, but afterwards they both calm down and drift between wakefulness and sleep. As time wears on, Ray’s eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and soak up any available light. A single door leads out of the room, and a golden light bleeds under it. The glow doesn’t penetrate far, but it gives Ray enough light to finally gaze upon his bedmate. Ray hoists himself up the bed and supports his weight on an arm, looking down at the boy beside him. They share the same height, but that’s where their similarities end. Auburn curls encircle the boy’s head like a bloody halo, and Ray spots the faint dent of a dimple in a round cheek. Ray doesn’t notice a pair of breathtaking, golden eyes watching him in return until the boy’s face cracks into a grin.

“Like what you see, big boy?”

Jumping in his skin, Ray scoots back as the other boy closes the distance between them. Ray stares him down, perplexed at the slit pupils following him like a hot meal.

“Uh, dude, what the hell?”

Thick eyebrows waggle at him in the dim light, and the redhead purrs at him, “Meow.”

The hand not supporting Ray’s weight scrambles behind him, but hits nothing but air. He’s run out of mattress to scoot on, and the strange boy with predatory eyes only draws nearer. Ray considers diving off the side of the bed for a second, but a hand quick as lightning snags in his borrowed shirt and pulls him back from the brink. The golden eyes staring him down soak up all the radiant light from beyond the door and almost glow in the dark. Ray cranes his head back as far as his neck allows.

“Are,” Ray pants, “are you the cat? From the bridge?”

The boy’s smirk deeps with a cock of his head. “Maybe.”

“Alright… So what are you? A witch? A… demon?” 

The gold eyes roll in their socket and the boy scoffs at him, “Way to charm a girl, buddy. I am indeed a witch. My specialty”—the boy’s face twists into a mix between human and cat, but only for a second—“is shapeshifting.” 

“Uhg, I think I heard bones crack,” Ray groans immediately. 

The boy shrugs and finally releases him. “Probably.” 

Adrenaline that had previously excited Ray quickly drains him of energy, and he flops bent and awkward back onto the bed. The cat boy remains sitting above him, watching him without expression. Ray expects ears and a tail to pop out, but his face maintains its human countenance. The urge to reach out and touch that cherub-like face possesses Ray for one feverish moment, but it passes as the pound of foot falls thumps through the walls. 

“Michael, I swear to Christ, if you are fucking that kid in our bed—“ 

The door whips open and floods the room with horrid, yellow sunlight. Ray and the boy—probably Michael—both yell in agony at the assault. Ray flips onto his stomach to bury his face in a pillow. Michael flails beside him, hard enough to roll off the bed to fall with a smack onto the floor. From the doorway, boisterous laughter mixed with heaving coughs dances into the room. Michael’s voice cracks somewhere from the floor, but Ray’s head pounds too hard to understand any of it. 

“Oh ho, that was fucking great. Did you break your ass falling?” 

Ray shifts his head to crack open an eye wide enough to see the new comer. In the doorway, a tall man with a lazy grin watches Michael on the floor. Under a white apron wrapped around his waist, the man wears a layered tunic in various shades of green. Ray immediately recognizes it at a witch outfit, although it doesn’t give him a clue as to the man’s skill. Nearer to Ray, Michael heaves himself up and braces his forearms on the mattress. A snarl twists his face and a few whiskers pop out from his cheeks. 

“Fuck you, Geoff, barging in here with the literal fucking Sun behind you. Warn a guy!” 

“Had to catch you fucking the little country witch you found,” Geoff admits while twisting an end of his moustache. “You were so content to cuddle right up to him in the rain…” 

“Jealous?” Michael spits back. 

“Nahhh.” 

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Ray groans from the pillow. He lifts his head fully to retort, “And who are you calling a ‘country witch?’” 

“You, short stuff.” Geoff jerks his head in Ray’s direction before smoothing his hands down the front of his apron. “Anyway, get up, losers, and get out of my bedroom. I’m tired of coming back here to check on you guys and hear that damn bell ring every time someone walks up.” 

Michael hops up from the floor and practically struts to the door. His round, perfect ass catches Ray’s eye, but Ray rips his gaze away and frowns comically hard at the headboard.

“Hey,” Michael barks over his shoulder. “Are you coming, uh… dude?” 

“Ray.” 

“Well, are you coming, Ray? Geoff won’t shut up until we do what he says.” 

Ray waits for the patter of Michael’s footsteps to fade before he turns around to face the doorway. His body still aches from sleeping on the ground and anxiety still claws at him about this whole apprentice thing. There’s still the matter of finding a master witch to teach him a craft, since he lacks, in his own words, a “natural skill.” As Ray scoots to the edge of the bed and his feet touch down on the floor, his instinct to just go with the flow and see what happens kicks in and urges him from the room. Geoff is an adult, he reasons, and must know of a master witch in town. That would get him back on track, at the least. Ray commits to asking Geoff as he snatches his folded dress from a desk pushed against a wall and changes clothes. 

A bell chiming from far away leads Ray from the bedroom, downstairs, to behind a counter. A short queue of people shuffles along as Geoff exchanges goods from chests and drawers for money. Ray stands on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse of what lies in the chests, but Geoff’s body blocks their contents. It’s only when he’s spoken and dealt with every customer in the store does Geoff sigh and turn around to greet Ray. Michael is nowhere in the store. 

“So, country witch—“ 

“Ray.” 

“ **Country witch** , what brings you to our fair, seaside city?” 

Footsteps and arguing echo from the stairs behind Ray, and he sidesteps the catfight in mid insult. 

“What were you thinking! Sleeping on strangers like a house cat? You’re mental.” 

“Mental? What does that even mean?” Michael shouts at a tall, gangly man. “And it wasn’t like I just walked up to Ray like, ‘meow, meow, I’m a cat,’ I followed him and checked him out, okay? So just shut up.” 

“’Meow, meow, I’m a cat?’ Cat’s don’t talk, Michael, and even if they did, they wouldn’t say something so stupid.” 

The conversation continues through a gap in the counter Michael makes by lifting a part of it. The two spit and hiss at each other past the door and onto the street outside until they disappear from view. Ray turns a confused eye on Geoff, but the man just shrugs. 

“That’s Gavin, one of my apprentices. Don’t mind him. He’s foreign.” 

Ray hums, unsure, and finally detaches himself from the far side of the shop. It’s clearly a shop, once Ray puts his mind to it. Besides the back wall by the stairs, every other wall is covered with drawers and shelves built into the structure. Chests, some floor-level and some sunken, clutter at least half of the available floor space. Ray approaches the clear spot beside Geoff and careful places his hands on the worn counter. Windows at the front give him a sneak peek of the bustling street outside. The sun shines high above the windows, though, giving Ray a clue to the time without asking. 

“Apprentices, huh? So, you’re a witch?” 

Geoff slides closer to him and leans his forearms on the countertop. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattoos that cover every inch of skin. A few koi fish dive through the stylized waves on his arms, and one even pauses to blink at him before darting away. A maiden on the back of one hand waves and winks at him, but Geoff grumbles and covers her with the other hand. Ray withholds a snort rather than risk insulting the man. 

“Yea, I’m a witch. This”—Geoff gestures with a jerk of his head—“is my Farming and Mercantile Supply Store. Seeds, hoes, torches, anything an intrepid farmer could need. Basically, I specialize in all things farming, but with a magical twist. The seeds and shit are magic, the spells wear off, and people grow normal plants. But! They have to keep coming back to me for more seeds. Because the seeds made from those pants, uh… Don’t work.” 

“Wow, what an asshole.” 

Ray’s brain screams to a halt after he lets that out. He expects Geoff to turns an angry glare and even angrier tongue on him, but the man just throws him a shit-eating grin. 

“Yea, I love it. Rolling in diamonds, dude.” 

Biting his lip, Ray swallows hard and turns back to the busy street outside. His anxiousness gallops and twists in his gut until it finds an outlet at his fingertips, which drum on the counter. Geoff is still beside him, breathing calmly. Ray fists his nervous hand and clears his throat, gaining the man’s attention. Geoff shifts his weight onto one hip and blinks at him with sleepy, droopy eyes. Ray turns to face him completely, attempting to show respect. 

“Geoff, uh… Do you know any other master witches in town? I’m looking for a master…” 

“Awww, that’s so cute. Little country witch trying to hone his skill. Adorable.” 

Ray swallows a biting retort and stands a bit straighter. Geoff’s goofy grin persists on his face, though, and Ray’s shoulders drop in defeat. He hates resorting to begging. 

“Look, I’m not great at anything. I can’t fly, can’t do spell work, nothing. But I’m a witch, and normy life isn’t working out for me. So, if you know a master somewhere in the city, please tell me. Otherwise, I have to go back home and figure something else out. I’m almost out of money…” 

The front door to Geoff’s shop opens at that moment, and an old woman hobbles in. Ray sighs and steps back to let Geoff deal with her. They converse in hushed tones for a moment, and Geoff leaves her at the counter with a smile. 

“Ray, watch the shop for me. I gotta get a special order for my customer.” 

Ray gaps at the older witch as Geoff heads for the door in the back and disappears downstairs. Uncertain about this, but unwilling to drop any more balls, Ray shuffles to the counter with his head down. The elderly lady talks at him about her grandchildren and her modest garden. Ray nods and hums at her stories, wanting to ask her what she’s buying, but not wanting to seem nosy at the same time. He opens his mouth to finally ask, but Geoff strolls back into the room with a sheen of sweat on his face and a paper sack in his hand. As he steps up beside Ray, he smells of pine and dry air. 

“Here you go, Mrs. Porch. Those mushrooms will cost you uh… three a piece!” 

“Three what?” Ray murmurs under his breath. 

The transaction continues without any acknowledgement of Ray’s comment, though. Geoff and Mrs. Porch exchange money and goods with a few more pleasantries before she leaves. As she touches the front door, a man opens it from the outside and allows her out. He and two other men pile into the store with their overalls and distinguished moustaches once she waves all goodbye. They call out to Geoff in booming, friendly voices. Geoff instantly pushes Ray to the counter and strolls back downstairs without a complaint. Ray stiffly makes idle chatter with the burly men in front of him, ignoring their lingering gazes. They crowd around him and lean their thick forearms on the worn wood to get closer to him, but Ray remains aloof and professional. 

Again, Geoff returns swimming in the scents of a place far from the seaside city. Ray stares at the older witch, attempting to gleam any clues from his clothes or body. However, the unknown persists. And Ray doesn’t get the chance to ask Geoff anything, because more people enter the shop even before the thick trio leave. Ray remains glued to the counter, shouting orders at Geoff and even handling money after the traffic picks up. The two witches work together without further instruction or explanation from Geoff. It’s only during a break in the flow of customers, when Geoff temporarily closes the store for a break, does Ray ask again about a master.

“So,” Ray begins after wiping sweat from his forehead, “can you recommend me to a master witch in town?” 

Geoff wipes a counter while swiping ingredients back into a drawer. He shrugs and counters, “Not a whole lot of witches in this town, let alone masters. There’s maybe one other beside me, but he has enough apprentices to last a lifetime. And you seemed to handle yourself well during that rush…” 

Ray turns fully around to watch Geoff clean up. The older man avoids his gaze, preferring to give his back to Ray. The back of Geoff’s neck, what Ray can see of it above Geoff’s green tunic, flushes red, though. Through the thud of drawers and clink of glassware, Ray holds his ground and waits for Geoff to say something. Anything. After Geoff wipes an already clean counter down for the third time, he finally sighs and turns back to look at Ray. 

“What did you say your skill was again?” 

“I don’t have one,” Ray says with blind confidence. 

“No flight, no spells, no nothing?” 

“I mean, I get itchy when plants need watering. And I can hear trees talk… Sometimes…” 

Geoff groans and drags a hand down his face. “Well, you can clearly babysit idiot customers and I can probably teach you how to take money—“ 

“Can’t be that hard,” Ray mumbles. 

“—so, I guess you can be my cashier, or whatever.” 

Geoff throws the cleaning rag Ray’s way, missing him completely. The rag lands in a damp heap on Ray’s naked feet. Ray swipes imaginary dust from the hem of his dress as he bends to scoop the rag up. He follows Geoff through the door and downstairs, finally seeing another part of the shop. The cellar they descend into reeks of damp earth, and the humidity sticks Ray’s clothes to his body immediately. A dim bulb from the ceiling casts faded shadows on everything in here, except a gleaming, crystal platform in the corner. The platform catches every available bit of light and reflects it back at Ray in constantly changing hues. When Geoff steps on the platform, Ray opens his mouth to ask about it, but the witch crooks a lazy finger at him. 

“Come here and I’ll show you around a lil bit. Give you an idea of Daddy Geoff’s operations, since you’ll be here for a while.” 

“Please don’t call yourself ‘daddy.’” 

Geoff garbles an objection at him, but Ray steps onto the crystal platform without another word. Beneath his bare feet, the crystal is smooth and warm in the damp cellar. It’s the opposite of what Ray expects, but there’s no time to think about it before the crystal showers them in purple light and they’re gone. Ray snaps his eyes shut at the peak of the light and holds his breath when high pressure threatens to crush him. He remembers a time, when he was very young, when he’d jumped into the deep end of a pool. He’d struggled and flailed in the depths, with twelve feet of water between him and the surface. Ray gasps as the moment ends, and the light dies down again. It’s like bursting through the surface of the pool all over again. 

Knees weak, Ray leans on Geoff with a groan. Geoff steadies him with both hands on his arms and holds him upright. Ray’s heart still races, but he has enough courage to open his eyes and see just where the crystal platform has jettisoned them. They’ve materialized in a bedroom, a guest bedroom if the neutral colors and lack of personal items is anything to go by. Geoff guides him to sit on the made bed, and Ray takes the moment to catch his breath and his wits. A glance out the only window in the room reveals the same bay and ocean view as from Geoff’s shop, only he sees more of the town from this perspective. 

“You,” Ray gaps, “you teleported us across town?” 

“Yea, pretty cool, huh?” Geoff brags from his kneeling position in front of a chest of drawers, pulling out clothes and sheets. 

“We could have walked here, and I wouldn’t wanna throw up from that.”

Geoff waves a dismissing hand at him. “You’ll get used to the transporter.” As an after though, probably not meant for Ray to hear, Geoff adds, “I wonder if you can even activate it…” 

With a roll of his eyes, Ray pretends he didn’t hear that. They don’t linger in the guest room for much longer. Geoff mentions casually that this room is where his current life had started. He’d met his first apprentice here and expanded to his own shop in order to train said apprentice. Ray nods along numbly as Geoff ushers him from the bed and back to the teleporter. Groaning, the young witch wraps shaky arms around his stomach and braces for the pressure and rush of travel. 

Geoff flashes them in and out of a handful of places, never stepping off the teleporter or offering a deep explanation. Ray’s eyes nearly cross at the breakneck speed. All the places Geoff shows him—a cave, the bottom of a canon, a jungle and more—are all places he uses for supply harvesting. A few questions pop into Ray’s head, but the nausea washes them away in a flood. They linger in the purple stream after visiting a horse-filled grassland while Geoff twists an end of his moustache in thought. 

“I know I’m forgetting somewhere… Somewhere important.” 

“Let’s try back at the shop,” Ray offers quietly. 

“No,” Geoff drawls and taps his foot. “We’re going back there soon, but there’s one more—Oh damnit, duh! Mushroom House, fuck!” 

Ray holds back his stomach as they finally exit the stream and materialize in a new place. Sure enough, a giant mushroom with a polka dotted cap greets them. Inside the cap, lights shine from within the home, and smoke curls out from an added chimney. The house and transporter sit in a clearing surrounded by towering pines trees, and the air smells hot and still. Through his motion sickness, Ray pieces together that this is one of the place Geoff had disappeared to during their mad rush earlier. However, this thought vanishes when Ray’s sight settles on the other occupant of the clearing. 

A man as tall as Geoff stands with an axe over his shoulder, staring at them with a raised eyebrow. Sweat soaks through his white, buttoned up shirt. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows reveal the necessary muscle to swing such an axe with persistence and precision. A muggy breeze rolls through the clearing and ruffles the pleats of the man’s kilt, drawing Ray’s eyes down his body. The man frowns and stares back, his mouth opening to speak. Geoff cuts him off, though, with slivers of the purple stream already coming back to life. 

“Hi, Ryan, bye, Ryan.” 

And without a single word from the man—Ryan, Ray commits the name to memory—the stream overtakes them and they vanish. The image of annoyed, squinting blue eyes burns into the stream in front of Ray’s face, and he tries not to blink so that it stays. They flash back into existence in the basement of the shop, and Ray allows the sight of those eyes to finally drift away. He stumbles from the crystal platform and leans against the wall. Geoff takes off for the stairs and pauses half way up them, waiting for Ray. 

“There’s a small room in my attic where you can stay, since I’ll be your master ‘n all. Or you could try the whole sleeping-under-a-bridge thing.” 

“I’ll take the room,” Ray accepts with a gulp of air. He can’t wait for the time when traveling on this thing doesn’t make him ill. 

“Excellent choice, my good man.” 

Ray uses the last of his strength for the day to follow Geoff up the steps of the shop, into the home above, and finally into the attic. He slouches against a wall as Geoff shoves a few boxes into a corner and wrestles a comforter and two random couch cushions into a pile. Grumbling, Geoff whips out his phone and fires a text or two off to someone and pockets the phone with a huff. Ray shuffles away from the door as feet pound up the stairs and someone trips into the room. 

Gavin catches himself before face planting onto the dusty attic floor. He flashes Ray a grin before bounding over to Geoff. They cock their heads together and argue in hushed words to each other for a moment. Finally, Gavin throws his hands up and garbles something to Geoff before turning an eye on the pile before them. Gavin snatches the edges of the comforter and yanks it up, snapping the other end in the air. When it floats back to the floor, the cushions mold together under the cover and plump up into the shape of a mattress. Gavin does a quick walk around his handy work and smoothes out any wrinkles in the pillow top. 

“You owe me, Geoff.” 

Geoff waves him away and says back, “I owe you a dick in the butt, if that’s what you mean.” 

“No one ever means that, Geoff!” Gavin flees back down the stairs as quickly as he’d come, the end of his sentence drifting softly into the room.

Geoff just shrugs and flicks a hand at the newly magicked mattress. “There you go. Not great, but this is better than if Michael or I had tried to do it. This is more Gavin’s thing.” 

“What, transforming shit into other shit?” Ray tests the firmness of the bed before sitting on it. The mattress fills in something he hadn’t known about Gavin. However, Michael’s skill has slipped his mind. “What does Michael do?” 

“Shapeshifter,” Geoff offers simply. “Everything you had with you is still in our room downstairs, so I’m gonna grab it. Be right back.” 

Ray hums a goodbye at Geoff’s back and listens to him thump down the stairs. Sighing, Ray falls back with a bounce on the bare bed and stares at the ceiling. Cobwebs, stringy and dusty, soften the corners of the room and bestow a curve on the ceiling. Ray’s gaze follows a single spider picking its way through the mess. Unlike the spider, Ray tries to avoid sorting out his mess of a day, especially the end. He won’t be nosy and ask about the man he’d seen, Ryan. Who had definitely been a tall drink of water, but Ray pushes that thought away with a blush. How embarrassing that would be, Geoff learning about Ray’s appreciation for one of his associates. Ray knows he’d never survive the teasing. 

Geoff reappears during Ray’s circling thoughts, laden with linens for the bed and Ray’s bag. Ray’s broom doesn’t make a reappearance, but Ray doesn’t worry about it. He can’t fly, anyway. Geoff nudges Ray’s bag into the room with his foot while struggling with the mountain of blankets and sheets. Ray rolls off the bed to make room for Geoff’s bundle. Geoff dumps the linens on the bare mattress with a grunt and then straightens his back, squeezing muscles with his hands. Ray digs through the pile to separate the sheets, preparing to wrestle one onto the fresh bed. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” Geoff complains. “What’s the point of having apprentices if I’m still doing all this bullshit?” 

“Beats me,” Ray admits. “I call dibs on being cashier, though. Your laundry will end up straight fucked if you make me do it.” 

Geoff hums, rubbing the short hairs on the back of his neck. “Will you be okay up here? The bathroom is down a floor, the door immediately to the right. It’d be cool if you bought your own shampoo and crap, but I don’t mind you using our stuff until then.” 

“I appreciate that. Not really up for a shopping trip tonight, especially since I have no idea where anything is in town.” 

“Fair enough,” Geoff mumbles and turns for the door. “I’ll have Michael show you where the market is. If there’s anything else you need, he can show you where that is, too. I don’t have a lot of spare time…” 

Ray continues dressing the bed, rather than turning around and speaking directly to Geoff. “Thanks, don’t worry about it. Michael probably remembers what it was like, being in a new place.” 

Giggling, Geoff agrees while descending back down the stairs. Geoff’s voice, wishing him a good night and congratulations, wanders up the stairs after a moment. Ray finishes stretching a fitted sheet onto the mattress and quietly patters over to the door Geoff had left open. The hallway below is dark, with the exception of a nightlight plugged into the wall across from the bathroom. Geoff and Michael’s muffled voices reach Ray’s ears at the top of the stairs, and Ray soon shuts the door, least he eavesdrop on something intimate. He’d love a shower, but the day has caught up with him. Ray eyes the bed with the most desire he’s ever felt towards an inanimate object. He gets as far as yanking his black dress over his head, dumping it on the dusty floor, and then crashing face first onto the bed. He’s asleep with only half the covers pulled out from under him.


End file.
